


Reunite

by ravyn_nevermore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_nevermore/pseuds/ravyn_nevermore
Summary: The grief of losing Castiel was practically a freight train to Dean’s whole body. It’s a wonder he didn’t collapse on the burning pyre. However, death doesn’t stick even when it seems permanent.Coda- I guess- for season 12 finale. Please see author’s notes.





	1. A Damp Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it past the crappy summary, I’m shocked and thrilled. I’ve never been good at writing summaries. 
> 
> Anyway. You should be warned that as I’m posting this I’ve only seen the first three episodes of Season 13. I’m aware that the story I’m telling here is completely canon divergent, but it stems from a theory I had back when Season 13 was still filming and we knew very little. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Remember: Comments are a fic writer’s paycheck and Kudos are tips. Thanks! :) Enjoy

Rain poured heavily outside. The bunker was silent save for the tick of a clock somewhere and a rumble of thunder outside here and there. A particularly violent clap of thunder was soon followed by a loud knock at the bunker door, the sound echoing throughout. Startled and a bit confused, Sam left his seat in the library to retrieve his handgun. The knock echoed again as the younger Winchester loaded and cocked the gun, cautiously climbing the stairs. He steeled himself and swung the door open.

Standing on the other end of the threshold was a sopping wet, forlorn Castiel. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he was killed. The hole was still in his shirt to prove it. He stumbled in through the doorway. “Thank you. Sam.”

Shocked, Sam stumbled back and dropped his gun. It skittered across the stair landing and fell through the railing. “You… but… you're…”

“Starving,” Castiel interjected. “And wet. And cold.” He started moving down the stairs and Sam had no choice but to follow. He wondered if his locked-away and still-grieving brother heard any of this commotion.

Dean, hadn’t, in fact, heard anything. He barely even heard the thunder outside or the rain beating against the bunker’s shell with all its might. He laid on his still-made bed which hadn’t been used in three days. He couldn’t sleep. He just kept drinking and vomiting and crying. At the moment, he was feeling painfully dehydrated. Crying during nearly-nonstop alcohol consumption will do that to a person. His tear-stained cheeks were covered with an uncharacteristic stubble. His clothes were rumpled and stained. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the Zepp Trax tape blaring in his ears. The mix tape he had made for Castiel probably should have melted from nonstop playing in the last 72 hours, but it kept on. Dean only really moved to either drink, vomit, use the bathroom, or flip the tape to the opposite side. He kept his eye closed most of the time, scared to death that he would forget what Castiel looked like, forget those blue eyes, forget the way his voice sounded like velvet on gravel. He already couldn’t remember what he smelled like. This realization sent Dean into a new series of painful sobs, though this time no tears came.

Meanwhile, Castiel had moved into the bunker’s kitchen opening the refrigerator and tearing through it, opening various containers and sniffing them, attempting not to heave at the contents. “Is there nothing edible here?” He did pick up an unopened bottle of beer and proceed to chug it down as if it was water. Anything at this point would be better than an empty stomach.

Bewildered, Sam watched him. It then dawned on him that he and Dean hadn’t actually eaten in the past three days. Well… Sam had, but it was just the last of the bologna on some very stale bread. “Uh… I can… order a pizza…”

“That would be sufficient. Thank you, Sam,” Castiel replied between- frankly disgusting- belches.  
Still reeling from the shock of this, Sam leaves the room with his phone in hand, barely focusing as he starts an online order for pizza from a local shop. He meanders down the hall toward Dean’s bedroom and knocks on the door.

He got lucky: the tape Dean was listening to for the umpteenth time had stopped to be flipped. Dean sighed when he heard Sam knocking. “Unless you’re dying, too, leave me alone,” Dean responded, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. He turned over in bed and took off the headphones to give his sweaty, sore ears a brief break.

Ignoring his brother’s request, Sam opened the door and stepped into the room slightly. Dean sat up, angry and ready to throw something if needed. “What the fuck did I just say?”

“I know, Dean, but… I… there’s… you just….” Poor Sam couldn’t find the words. He was struggling to believe it himself. Maybe he was hallucinating.

Just before Dean could retort, Castiel’s voice bellowed from somewhere down the hall, “Sam, make sure they put bacon on it. Please. Where are the towels?”

Dean’s heart stopped. Wide-eyed, he looked at Sam, afraid it was auditory hallucination. Sam gave him a look that said ‘no, that’s real’ and nodded. Dean launched himself out of bed, suddenly more energetic than he had been in days. His heart restarted itself, banging furiously against his ribcage. He shoved Sam to one side- which was unnecessary as the younger Winchester would have happily stepped out of his way- and bolted into the hallway. He scrambled in the direction of the bathroom as Castiel was stepping out, rubbing at his dark hair with a towel, clothes still dripping all over the floor.

In his temporary disbelief, Dean stopped short. It really was Cas. The towel was lowered to Castiel’s side when he noticed Dean in the hallway. For a moment, they stared at each other in silence. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas…” Dean nearly sobbed again, but he channeled that impulse to his legs, walking quickly to embrace the angel. They clinged to each other. Cas was freezing cold and smelled like rain and Earth and wood. Dean, on the other hand, was warm but unfortunately ripe from not taking care of himself in his deep depression. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as long as they could hold each other like this. However, it was only a matter of minutes before Dean came to his senses, hunter instincts reminding him… “Wait... “ He pulled out of Castiel’s arms and backed away. “Sure, death doesn’t seem to stick for any of us, but… we burned you. Hunter’s funeral. This isn’t… You can’t be you.”

Before Castiel could respond, however, Dean stormed back into his bedroom. He snatched up a bottle of Holy Water and a small, pure silver blade. He returned to the hallway and threw some of the holy water in Cas’ face. The angel’s face scrunched up and he blinked. Nothing happened. He wiped his face with a towel and offered his palm to Dean who ran across it with the silver blade. Castiel winced, but the cut didn’t seem to burn. It bled. Red blood. And it didn’t heal.

It didn’t heal.

Angels could heal immediately.

The cut wasn’t healing.

Dean’s mouth fell open slightly as green eyes bore into blue. Castiel held the wet towel to the wound on his palm. “I’m afraid we have a few things to talk about, Dean.” 


	2. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets his pizza. Dean gets the answer he was waiting for. But is it the answer he wanted?

The silent air in the bathroom was pregnant with unasked questions, unspoken worries, and secret emotions as Dean helped patch up Castiel’s hand. It wasn’t awful: a little rubbing alcohol, a dab of astringent, some gauze and tape to hold it in place. Castiel was- though maybe he shouldn’t have been- surprised at Dean’s gentle work despite how rugged his calloused hands were. His eyes never left Dean’s face despite this, perhaps trying to read his emotions or maybe attempting to count his freckles for the seventy-sixth time since they’ve known each other. Dean could feel Castiel’s gaze as if it was burning his skin, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready for the feelings he knew making eye contact from this distance would bring up: like emotional indigestion, pressing on the back of his throat.

Still no words were spoken as Dean started the shower for Castiel and subsequently left to retrieve dry clothes for him. He was a little wary upon returning to the bathroom as he knew his feeble heart couldn’t handle seeing Castiel in a state of undress, however luck was on his side for once as Cas was already standing under the hot water with the curtain in place. Dean breathed a small sigh of relief and left sweatpants and a worn, old Metallica shirt on the sink.

“Thank you. Dean.” The words echoed from inside the shower and nothing more was said. The hunter paused in scooping up the wet clothes pile on the floor. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, still adjusting to the fact that Castiel was actually here: back with Dean- and Sam- where he belonged.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, voice barely audible above the fall of water in the shower. He carried Castiel’s clothes down to the laundry and dumped them into the washer, eyes glassing over as he went through the motions of starting the washing machine. With that done, he returned to the bathroom to do no more than lurk outside the hallway. Dean was still deeply terrified that this might be a dream or hallucination. The longer he stayed away from Cas, the less real it seemed. Dean’s chest tightened and he felt like he was suffocating. His hands shook as emotion welled in him again, tears stinging the backs of his eyes. Nausea rolled through him in one big tidal wave. He thought he was going to be sick. He didn’t even hear the shower knob squeak as the water was shut off.

Steam billowed out of the bathroom as Castiel emerged, towel around his neck, but looking warmer and more comfortable in Dean’s ill-fitting clothing. Just like that- as if someone flipped a switch, Dean felt better. He could breathe easier. Everything relaxed and his hands stilled. Castiel seemed to sense something was wrong and his brow furrowed. “Dean…? Dean, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He reached out to touch the man, but Dean shied away.

“Just… not now, Cas. I’m still… processing, okay? Because… I mean… I… I watched you die. It looked pretty permanent. I… built you a pyre, I burned your body… I said good-bye and… and I spent the last three... four days… grieving. Hard. Okay? So… let me just… my own way… okay?”

Castiel nodded in understanding and lowered his hand. “Okay, Dean. I understand. We have a lot to talk about as I said. But… I think it’s better suited to do so over pizza.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “Okay…”

Together, they made their way to the central area. Sam was setting out plates and opening the pizza box on the long, wooden table. He looked up at Dean and Cas and forced a sort of half-smile. “Looks like you got a shower, hey, Cas?” He cleared his throat. “Uh… anyway… pizza’s here. I got soda too, but there’s still beer. And there’s water. So…”

Cas smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sam.” He settled into the chair at the end of the table and pulled a cheesy slice of pizza from the box, dropping it onto the plate in front of him. Dean dropped into the chair at Castiel’s left and leaned against the wooden back. He didn’t reach for the pizza at all. He just stared at Castiel, waiting for an answer, an explanation.

Sam felt a little awkward, but he uncapped a bottle of Cheerwine and set it in front of Dean. He was sure his older brother would have preferred a bottle of beer, but Sam didn’t think that was such a good idea given how much Dean had been drinking recently. Without even looking up at the glass bottle, Dean took the soda and started nursing it, still staring at Castiel, who was now eating his slice of pizza with gusto. Feeling too out of place presently, Sam took his pizza and soda into another room. He trusted Dean to fill him in later anyway.

Silence hung heavy between the remaining two, interrupted only by thunder still rolling in the distance or a gulp of swallowed food or drink. Eventually, Castiel finished his slice of pizza and wiped his hands on his thighs. He sighed and folded his hands on the table in front of him, pushing his empty, grease-streaked plate out of the way. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him despite not making eye contact just yet. He searched for the words he needed, knowing it wouldn’t be easy and Dean might not take this so well.

“When I died… when I was dead… I woke up alone in… an empty space. Nothing but blackness everywhere, but I could see, so it wasn’t dark. It’s difficult to explain. Anyway... I could still hear you. I heard your prayers. I heard your grief. There was nothing I could do. At some instance, recently, I was suddenly standing in a white room in front of my father. We spoke of what happened and he agreed to have me resurrected. But I would have to be remade from scratch. I wouldn’t be in this vessel anymore. It would be like starting over with a clean slate. Death by angel blade is a complete death for angels. No coming back from it unless you’re rebuilt. I would remember my basic functions and duties as an angel, but I wouldn’t remember anything else. So, I bargained with him. I asked him to resurrect me, but not as an angel. As a human. Because I would much rather be with you and remember our time together and all the things I have learned from my time on Earth with you and Sam… Bobby and… Charlie and all of your other family and friends. I know that now I am mortal and vincible and at a much higher risk of death, and I know that upsets you. I know that you prefer me at full… mojo… and that to you, like this, I am just a ‘baby in a trench coat’, but… any death I meet as a human will be significantly less painful than death by angel blade as an angel. You cannot even begin to fathom the pain… You feel the blade but you also burn from the inside out. I could be tortured to death as a human and still nothing would compare.” Castiel shifted in his chair, making the aged wood creak. “I understand if you… don’t want me around anymore because I’m useless. It will break my heart, but I understand. You have taught me to hunt before and I would consider it an honor and a privilege to continue fighting alongside you and Sam. But I’m sure you would rather save yourself the stress of having to constantly watch out for and protect me as you are known to do. I know that making this decision is selfish of me, but I could only think of you, Dean.”

Finally, Castiel looked up, just barely brave enough to meet Dean’s intense emerald gaze. It was tense in that room and this only seemed accented by the storm outside. Dean was floored; the air left his lungs. Even in death, Castiel thought of Dean first. He could have chosen to forget it all and go back to living life as an all-powerful being. Dean would have continued believing him dead, would have continued grieving, but no. Castiel elected to give all that up for a human life with Dean.

Dean blinked at last and swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat brought on by a fresh wave of emotion. His hand trembled as he brought the soda bottle to his lips and drained it of the very last drop. Gently, he set it back on the table, this time avoiding Castiel’s eyes as he tried to process what he just learned. It was quiet between them again as Cas patiently waited for Dean to say something, anything.

“Look… Cas… I…” Dean paused, sighed. “I’m just glad to have you back. Yeah, maybe you heard my prayers and my grief, but… you have no idea what losing you did to me. I’m not gonna get into some Lifetime movie style feelings speech, but… I got so wrapped up in my grief that I probably would have killed myself if I had gone on the way I had. You being here now, today, is the only thing that kept me from continuing to wallow. I’m tired of losing the people that I love. And the fact of the matter is, Cas…” Dean finally made eye contact again. “You belong here. You belong in this bunker, in this family. You belong with me. And Sam. Yes, I’d prefer if you were immortal and I didn’t have to worry and stress over whether you’re gonna die from some surprise kitsune attack one day or from something lame like the flu, but… truth is I’d rather have you, Cas. With or without your mojo.”

Castiel couldn’t hide the relief he felt at Dean’s words. He smiled warmly, genuinely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah…” There was no ignoring his rumbling stomach anymore, so Dean picked up a large slice of pizza to eat on his way to the shower. “Hey, go tell Sammy. He’ll want to know what’s up and I need a shower. I’m pungent.” With that, Dean walked away, stuffing pizza into his mouth.


End file.
